10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
JACKSON
T he highway blurs under my tires as Ava follows close behind, but my focus is elsewhere.
I can still feel her fingers in mine.
She didn’t plan it. I know it. But it happened.
And I’d do it again in an instant.
I think about the quiet determination I saw on her face when she walked out of that apartment holding my hand like it belonged there.
My thoughts turn back to the conversation I had with Brad when Ava was up in the attic.
I grip the steering wheel a little harder than necessary.
He didn’t look so smug when I pressed him about where her luggage was.
At first, he played dumb. Shrugged. Said it probably got misplaced. But I knew he was lying.
So I didn’t let it go.
I stayed calm. Didn’t raise my voice. Just kept looking at him until he cracked.
He finally admitted he left the suitcase in the trunk of the rental car. Dropped it off that same night, just hours after she walked out of their wedding. He could’ve brought it back. Called someone. Hell, just texted Jenna to come and take it.
But no. He left it there out of spite.
He had the nerve to say he didn’t think she’d want it anyway.
My jaw clenches.
Ava’s already had enough to deal with today. Getting her suitcase back, and anything else for that matter, shouldn’t have to feel like an uphill battle.
The exit sign for the rental agency appears up ahead. I turn my blinker on, check the mirror again. She follows without hesitation.
I take a slow breath and ease into the turn lane, guiding us into a cracked lot lined with rows of identical sedans and a chain-link fence that’s seen better days.
When we pull into the lot, Ava parks beside me.
She steps out slowly, brushing her hands over her coat.
She’s watching me carefully, probably trying to figure out where we are and why.
I meet her at the curb and nod toward the glass doors.
“I’ve got a hunch,” I say, tipping my head toward the building. “You’ll want to see this.”
She falls into step beside me. After everything Brad put her through, the least I can do is help her walk out of here with her luggage.
The car rental office is quiet except for the buzz of a flickering fluorescent light overhead. The carpet’s stained, the counter scuffed, and the woman behind the desk doesn’t look up right away when we step inside.
Ava stays close but silent, her eyes scanning the space like she’s waiting for something to go wrong.
I step forward. “Hey. I think you’ve got something in the lost and found. Gray luggage, probably dropped off by a guy in a bad mood last Saturday.”
The clerk, mid-forties with red-framed glasses and a coffee ring on her paperwork, blinks like she’s just remembered what planet she’s on.
“Hang on,” she finally says, dragging herself out of her seat and disappearing through the door behind her.
Ava finally turns to me, voice low. “How’d you know it was here?”
I meet her gaze. “Brad told me. Eventually.”
She doesn’t say anything else. Just swallows, nodding once.
The clerk returns a minute later dragging a large suitcase. Gray hardshell, a scuff on the corner, a purple ribbon knotted around the handle.
Ava stiffens beside me.
“This it?” the woman asks, wheeling it over the carpet.
Ava steps forward slowly, laying a hand on the top. “Yeah. That’s it.”
The woman shrugs. “Figured someone would come for it eventually. That guy said to toss it, but we don’t throw out stuff like this unless it leaks or bites.”
My jaw locks. I press my tongue to the inside of my cheek, nod once, and turn to grab the handle before Ava has to.
“Thank you,” Ava says quietly.
The woman just waves it off and heads back to her desk.
Outside, the air hits cooler than before, biting around the collar of my coat. I haul the suitcase over the curb and pop Ava’s trunk without a word, easing it inside.
Then she says softly, “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Yeah, I did.”
Ava’s hand lingers on the handle before she shuts the trunk.
“That ribbon,” she says quietly. “It’s from the ribbon-cutting ceremony for Open Pages. Our first location. Brad hated it. Said it made the bag look childish.”
I don’t say what I’m thinking. That he doesn’t deserve to touch anything that matters to her.
“I like it,” I say instead. “Makes it easier to spot.”
She gives a tiny smile. And I swear it softens something in my chest.
Her eyes flick up to mine, searching. “Seriously, thank you. For pushing him. For getting it.”
“You don’t have to carry everything all by yourself,” I say. “Not anymore.”
A flicker of something crosses her face. Relief, maybe.
“I’m starting to believe that.”
She walks to the driver’s side of her car, and I let her go without another word. She’s lighter on her feet than she was leaving the apartment. Still tired, still raw, but a little more steady.
I climb into my truck, start the engine, and pull onto the road. In the rearview, Ava’s right behind me.
By the time we pull into the driveway, the sun’s slipped low enough to cast a golden haze across the lawn.
I kill the engine and step out. Ava’s car door opens a few seconds later. She pops the trunk and grabs the quilt first, her fingers trailing over the plastic bag delicately.
I take out the rest of her things and follow her inside, shrugging off my coat at the door as she moves through the front hall.
Inside, the house is warm and familiar. Laughter drifts in from the living room: Noah’s voice, high and animated, followed by Liam’s quieter reply. Miss Taylor is curled up in the armchair with a blanket across her lap, the twins nestled together on the couch, watching the end of a movie.
“Hey,” she says with a gentle smile. “Glad you’re back. The boys already ate, but there’s food in the fridge for you two.”
“Thanks,” I say, setting the tote and her suitcase by the stairs. Ava offers a faint smile and murmurs a quiet goodnight to the boys, who are too absorbed in their movie to do more than wave.
She hugs the quilt closer as she heads upstairs. I wait a beat, then head into the kitchen to grab the leftovers. A few minutes later, she returns without the quilt, her sleeves rolled up, her hair pulled into a loose knot.
I slide a plate of roasted vegetables and lemon chicken in front of her, then join her at the table. She picks up her fork and gives me a look that’s both grateful and tired.
“I should say something,” she says.
I raise a brow as she nudges a carrot across her plate. “I’m sorry for earlier. For putting you in that position with Brad. I know we said we weren’t doing the fake dating thing and then I just… made it happen.”
I shake my head. “No need to apologize. I meant it when I said I’d do it. You needed me, and I was glad to step in.”
A long breath leaves her, like she’s been holding it since we left his apartment.
She swallows then nods. “It just felt like the only way to make him stop.”
I nod slowly, letting a quiet settle between us. Then I glance at her suitcase and ask, “That ribbon on your suitcase. The purple one. You said it was from a ribbon-cutting ceremony?”
There’s something different in her eyes now. Clearer, brighter. Like a light turning on inside her.
“Yeah. Our first location. Open Pages.”
“That’s your nonprofit, right?”
She nods, sitting up straighter now, like just saying the name helps realign something inside her.
“It is. I started it a few years ago. We focus on creative literacy. We help kids use reading and storytelling to process what’s happening in their lives.
But it’s also about making books actually feel fun and accessible, no matter where a kid lives or what their family can afford.
Books were always my safe place growing up, so…
it felt right. I wanted to build something that could give other kids that same kind of space. ”
I listen. Not just to the words, but to how she says them. Her hands start to move a little more, her posture easing.
Her voice gets stronger. Like this is the part of her that shines through when she’s doing what she loves. Confident, animated, entirely herself.
And damn if it isn’t something to see.
She keeps talking, and I lean forward, pulled in.
“That’s amazing,” I say. And I mean it. “I remember you always loved books growing up.”
She laughs softly. “Yeah. I used to hide in the closet with a flashlight and a stack of library books.”
I chuckle, and she smiles for real this time.
“You should’ve seen the kids when the first bookmobile pulled up,” she adds quietly.
Some of them had never had a book before. Not one of their own. That… kind of changed me.”
I nod, my heart beating a little differently now. “Sounds like you’re changing them, too.”
She doesn’t answer that. Just looks down, like letting someone see this part of her is more vulnerable than anything else that’s happened today.
The quiet settles between us, but it feels comfortable. I glance toward the fridge, where Liam’s latest drawing of a lava dragon now has Ava added in: a stick-figure version, dark hair and a heart between us all.
She follows my gaze and smiles, her cheeks reddening slightly.
We don’t define whatever this is. Not yet. But she stays beside me a little longer, shoulder nearly brushing mine as we talk about nothing for a while. The kind of nothing that feels like something.
I’m not sure what this is.
But I know I’m not ready for it to end.